“I take that smug grin to mean your morning efforts succeeded,” Culross said.
Kerr inclined his head. “Better than planned.” His voice, once smooth, had been burned into a roughened growl.
Culross scanned the grey horizon. He’d expected nothing less. He paid his men well, treated them with respect. Loyalty followed.
“The details,” Culross ordered.
Alec spoke first. “I loosened the linchpin on the bride’s carriage. Given the weather and the road, it will fail halfway. The driver will seek aid from another McQuoid carriage.”
He nodded once.
“Kerr suggested,” Alec continued, “sawing partway through the lead reins. In case the pin holds longer than expected.”
A cool smile edged Culross’s mouth. Thorough. Exactly as he required.
“There is one change,” Culross said.
Surprise flickered across both faces. Any seasoned soldier knew deviations carried risk. Neither man challenged him.
“The original arrangement stands altered.” Culross’s gaze sharpened. “The bride belongs to me.”
Hunger surged, hard and unwelcome, straight to his cock.
Thoughts intruded of Meghan confined to his cabins, her defiance stripped away. Of how she would loathe him. Of how she would burn.
Kerr cut across his musings. “And the others?”
“Take whichever is convenient. Scatter them,” Culross replied. “Make rescue…complicated.”
“I’d prefer one who knows how to keep quiet.” Alec grimaced and understandably given his twenty-six years. What young chap would want to have dealings with any polite lady?
At that, a quiet McQuoid or Smith? “Don’t hold your breath,” Culross muttered, meant for himself alone.
Lord Kerr frowned. “What was that?”
Alec angled his head, eyes flicking between them. “I didn’t catch that.”
Culross did not repeat himself. “As I said,” he replied coolly, “one McQuoid or Smith chit is as good as any other.”
Kerr’s gaze sharpened. “That isn’t what you said.”
The faintest pause followed.
Culross turned fully then, fixing the tall, wiry sailor with an unblinking stare. “It is what I said earlier,” he answered, his voice smooth, measured. “Do you have a problem with that?”
The wind snapped Kerr’s brown-haired queue against his shoulder. Something dark stirred in his eyes—anger, suspicion—but it died as quickly as it surfaced.
“No,” Kerr said at last.
“Good.” Culross inclined his head a fraction. “Then the matter is settled.”
They drew their masks and hoods on.
Culross fixed his gaze on the road.
Before the morning was over, three women would be ruined, and the McQuoid, Ellsby, and Tremaine ambitions to shut him out completely of the space at sea ended.
A cynical smile touched his mouth.
